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Fair stream, my Tajo! youth with all its glow And pride of feeling through my soul and frame Again seems rushing, as these noble waves Past their bright shores flow joyously. Sweet land, My own, my Fathers' land, of sunny skies And orange bowers!—Oh! is it not a dream That thus I tread thy soil? Or do I wake From a dark dream but now? Gonzalez, say, Doth it not bring the flush of early life Back on th' awakening spirit, thus to gaze On the far-sweeping river, and the shades Which in their undulating motion speak Of gentle winds amidst bright waters born, After the fiery skies and dark red sands Of the lone desert? Time and toil must needs Have changed our mien; but this, our blessed land, Hath gained but richer beauty since we bade Her glowing shores farewell. Seems it not thus? Thy brow is clouded.—

Gonzal.To mine eye the scene